


Burn the Witch

by blueboymclain



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Death, Fluff, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Slow Burn, Trigger Warnings, kangst, klance, klangst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 16:03:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16140686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueboymclain/pseuds/blueboymclain
Summary: There was a fine line between heat and cold and Keith was flirting with it.In a world where four kingdoms are separated based on the elements of magic that ran through the populations veins, certain things go out of hand during the fire kingdoms seasonal Yangi festival.All rights reserved to Voltron Legendary Defenders by DreamWorks, I do not own these characters.





	Burn the Witch

**Author's Note:**

> hello (-: so this story can have some triggering topics in some of the chapters (i'll put in warnings in the beginnings of those chapters so don't worry) so please be careful.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: MENTIONS OF SELF HARM

 

~A cold breeze tuffled through the ravenettes hair, pushing and guiding his air through the wind like a dancer with a ribbon. His windswept hair splayed across his face and neck, flowing along the waves of the wind, controlled and manipulated by only the breeze itself. Like a dancer with a ribbon, controlling only the air that surrounds the silk rather than the silk itself, the fabric falls down to the mercy of the wind and follows the paths that are created for only the ribbon to follow. Calm and at ease, there was no fighting in this art only the resistance of the wind and the weight of the ribbon against the air as the silk twirled effortlessly throughout the paths that the dancer created.

Hair splayed across cold reddened cheeks and chapped lips that were hardened by the roughs of ice and cold. His neck was left bare as the tough bites of the cold snuck underneath his mullet as if it sought for warmth too. Perhaps it really was about time for a haircut.

Legs dangling dangerously over the end of the tower stood still over the vast and open space, not allowing itself to follow the breezes rhythm as they swayed to their own accord. Air swisped around the loose pant legs as if it was looking for some sort of grip, any sort of shelter from the biting cold that whistled throughout the spring breeze. 

The air had a warm tinge to it, although it sill carried the ice colds from the previous winter. Picking up from where it had last started, telling the snow to 'go home' as it sent the ice on a journey to travel along the wind into the soon warming breeze more commonly known as the cool of spring. 

But what the hell did Keith know? Fire artists were resistant to heat, the only 'warmth' he knew was the raw, sharp, numbing pierce of the cold as it burned along his fingertips, threatening him with the oncoming curse of frostbite if he stayed out any longer within the clasps of the ice and snow. 

There was a fine line between heat and cold and Keith was flirting with it.

Twirling a cigarette between cold and calloused fingers, the fire artist lifted his gloved hand to rest the cigarette in between his toughened lips, taking a deep breath before puffing out a thick cloud of smoke. Which was short lived, as it was roughly snatched by the colds of the wind, carrying it over along with the ice of winter to the soon supposedly warming air of spring. 

Keith Twirled the cigarette along his fingers much like how the dancer twirls the ribbon, although this wasn't a practiced dance. 

Lifting the tightly bound poison to his mouth once more he took in another deep breath, holding the smoke within his tightly clasped lips, trapping the cloud within his mouth for longer than what was considered 'healthy.' Just so he could feel something, anything other than the numb of cold that resided within his bones. 

Soon his legs lost the battle of dominance with the breeze so he allowed the whisping air of the north to sway his legs to its own accord. The wind was a force and he was not in the mood to fight against it.

Hair covered his face and fell in his eyes. Throat burning from the cigarette, lips raw from the smoke. Keith coughed a few times but the unsettling feeling still lingered within him. He couldn't feel the heat, he couldn't feel the warmth of the cigarette that was just previously placed delicately within the clasps of his mouth, he couldn't feel the familiar burn in his throat as he took another deep breath from the poison held tight between his fingers, he couldn't feel the warmth from the cigarette that rested in his hand as he shook the remainder of the ash off from the tip of the roll-up onto the depths of the ground below.

But it wasn't his fault at play, the fire magic that pulsed throughout his veins like a second heart prevented him from feeling anything remotely close to the coziness of warmth. It had to be that way, it was for his own protection and for everybody else of his kind.

Although there was a time when he could feel the crisp breeze of Autumn as it picked up her leaves and blew them away to join the waves of the wind, sending them to where others would cherish them most.

There was a time where warm cups of cocoa burned through the palms of his hands from milk that was evidently boiled far to high from what it should have been.

There was a time where the strong spicy fumes of the ziravorla fruit filled his nose with accents of intense fiery heat. Eyes watery and mouth parched, his older brother would frustratedly tell him about the dangers of the fruits passionate, raging heat that expelled from its core when cut into. 

Mother Nature had her way with the earth as she breathed life into every core of every being that would live and breathe her spirit, giving all who desired a part of her soul as she went to region to region of every planet, taking turns and sharing love to the plants in her path that needed her attention most. Although she couldn't help the dancer that lost her ribbon, snatched by the wind as it overpowered her, telling her to pack up her belongings and to 'go home' to where she belonged. The dancer lost her ribbon and lost her purpose as she fell to the floor, crumbling in a pile of dust, soon becoming the Autumn that got carried to the Winter and ultimately to the air of Summer and Spring. The dancer was powerless to the wind as the boy was powerless to his choice of cold over warmth, numb over touch, sight over feeling. Fire over ice won and Keith couldn't do anything but accept the curse of bitter, freezing pain for the remainder of his life. 

It was about time that he would have to accept that he was no longer part of the ribbon that was once held within the tight clasps of his hand, he was no longer in control of the air that surrounded the silk and neither in control of the currents of the breeze that guided the fabric in a path that he could once easily manipulate. Dancing become harder until eventually the silk left and took its warmth along with it leaving Keith bare, cold and alone.

Drumming his fingertips, stained purple from the tutatqi flowers against the moss overgrown cobble tower. Keith pushed his body closer to the edge, pressing his booted feet flat against the stone as he  
lowered his head further to look at the depths down below. 

gripping his fingers tightly along the indents of the stoned rim tower, cigarette still held within the clasp of his hand burnt off until it reached his first knuckle. His skin warmed as the heat transferred from the cigarette to his hand, burning it in the process, although Keith couldn't feel it, Keith couldn't feel anything.

Lifting one hand from holding unto the tower he stuck the cigarette back into his mouth sucking in another huge breath before blowing out a cloud of smoke. Hair brushed against his face and neck and clothes wisped around his figure as his arm shakenly still gripped onto the snow covered edge, fingers slowly slipping and body slowly leaning closer and closer to certain death, Keith knew it was only about time before his arm gave out from supporting all his weight and that he'd eventually fall to his death. 

But did he care? No, not necessarily. 

Throat burning from the cigarette, legs shivering from the cold. Keith bundled up his fluffy fur-coat up to his neck with his free hand as he tried to free himself from the cold that resided there, tucking his chin into his coat Keith, leant back to the safety of the cobbled surface and tucked his legs and arms into the safe confines of his well beloved, familiar garment.

Teeth chittering, Keith bit down on his cigarette, teeth clamping together harshly on the poison comfortably rested between his mouth as a reflex from the sharpness of an unexpected breeze, made his lips sting from the sudden contact. A numb feeling slowly spread along his lips and face as he accepted and relaxed into it, after all that's as warm as it's going to get, well for him anyways. 

Keith didn't forget how warmth felt, and it wasn't that his magic restricted the heat either, it wasn't at all linked to memory or genes of whatever magic that happened to run through your veins, it was just the sheer truth of it all. 

The truth of the situation at hand was that they were forbidden to feel anything closely or even remotely similar to the coziness of warmth, it wasn't a crime, and it wasn't a punishment it was just life and fire artists just had to accept it. Except he didn't, unlike everybody else he just couldn't.

Keith still felt warmth but it was replaced with something else, there was a time when he could feel the crisp breeze of Autumn as it picked up her leaves and blew them away to join the waves of the wind, sending them to where others would cherish them most. Although the crisp breeze was filled something else, something numb and hallow. 

There was a time where warm cups of cocoa burned through the palms of his hands from milk that was evidently boiled far to high from what it should have been. But now those gripping fingers could feel nothing but bitter numbness. 

There was a time where the strong spicy fumes of the ziravorla fruit filled his nose with accents of intense fiery fruit. But now he couldn't feel it anymore, he couldn't feel anything at all.

Not the autumn breeze, not the hot cocoa, not the ziravorla fruit, not anything he just couldn't feel anything other than cold and what the numbness prevented.

All he felt was the cold, bitter numbness that resided in his bones, all he felt was the biting cold that lingered inside him, all he felt was the never ending 

 

 

 

 

 

numbness.

Shivering Keith clung to his fur coat and tucked the remainder of his face and body into its fluffy depths, rocking his thick leather snow boots back and forth on the surface of the cobbled tower, Keith looked onward at the depths below and at the soft snow that blanketed the frozen ground. Smiling he envisioned the earth as a person blanketing itself from the winter with a comforter made of the pure frozen rain itself, waking up every now and then from wild galloping horses and fellow fire artists scavenging the great outdoors for more resources.

Smiling felt nice, for a change.

Shivering Keith lit another cigarette and stuck it in his mouth, puffing out a cloud of smoke he tried to blow the cloud out in a circle, although he failed miserably. He might have the gift to manipulate fire but that doesn't mean he could manipulate smoke, leave that to the avians. Maybe he'd try again later, but right now he really wasn't in the mood to.

Inhaling again he kept the smoke there, it felt odd but familiar. He could feel the cloud linger and move around within his mouth, although he didn't allow it the luxury to travel into his lungs just yet. Holding the smoke there for a while longer he finally swallowed before waiting a while to exhale the cloud again. 

His throat hurt a little, but it didn't bother him at all.

Extending his arm from the fluffy comforts of his coat he rolled up his red woolen jumper sleeve and pressed the top of his burnt cigarette into his skin, biting his chapped lips with his teeth to soak in the remainder of the pain, he pressed the cigarette as far as it could go until the fire burnt out. Numbness crawled up his arm rapidly, it was a slow kind of burn, the type that reminded him of the fireplace he decided to build into his treehouse when he was six, that granted wasn't the most rational idea he'd ever thought of. Wooden house, wooden fueled fire. And warm salty tears that dropped down his cracked cheeks and dry eyes as he looked at the flames that engulfed his tree, his tree. 

Sorry Shiro.

An electrical sensation buzzed up his arm as he pressed another relight cigarette against his skin, fuck he knew this would itch for hours tomorrow but his skin screamed for more, he didn't want to stop but he did at the same time. The thought alone crawled up his veins and played with his senses until he burnt his arm again, he couldn't focus and his vision was going blurry, was it his tears or the fumes? He couldn't really tell. It's not like he would've wanted to know anyways.

Only minutes ago was he standing in the market with a shopping list and basket in hand, it was busier then usual since today was the last day of the annual Yangi celebration. They had one every season although the Spring festival was far more beloved than any other celebration.

People littered the streets and spent all their money on green and yellow fireworks and pigments, prepping themselves up for the big event. Keith didn't do so well in large crowds of people so usually he'd just spend all the festivals with Shiro in their small shared home drinking hot cacao or playing board games in front of the fire. His brother never really attended the festivals, as he wasn't born with fire in his veins so he felt left out. It didn't bother him to much though, his condition wasn't quite uncommon. 

Lucky him Keith thought, at least he could feel warmth.

The market hummed with life as excited hushed voices whispered to each other about the anticipation of the oncoming festival, the main cobbled paths were already closed up in preparation of the drummers and the fire dancers, who quite literally swallowed flames. More people crowded the stalls as they brought even more fireworks then they could carry, resolving to stuffing them in every pocket of every thick article of clothing that they happened to be wearing, which often ended up with a stained green or yellow fur coat from bursted pigments and poorly made overpriced fireworks.

They both had planned to finish their gathering before the annual celebrations started, so that they'd be able to buy the festival food and a few smaller fireworks themselves without being trampled upon by crowds of hurried rushed bodies, looking to buy as much as they could before the drummers started marching in the closed off roads.

Although Keith got sidetracked, very sidetracked. 

And now he was here, empty basket, lost shopping list, throat full of smoke and an arm filled with burns.

Sorry Shiro.

Shivering he pulled his fluffy fur-coat over his shaking body, stretching an arm out he carved out small patterns from the frost that settled on the tops of the cobbled tower that he sat upon. Scratching the back of his neck he resisted the temptation to itch at his arm, he knew it would only make the pain worse, although it's not like he minded the pain all to much. 

Looking only at the cobbles beneath him and the small patterns that lingered in the frost, soon to be covered by the oncoming snow that began to fall. He sighed, how many cigarettes was it this time?

The first time he smoked it tasted horrible, maybe it was because he didn't have enough money to buy a pack so he made his own with dryed mint leaves and parchment, or maybe it was because it was, well his first time. Whatever the reason Keith smoked and he smoked often, he usually always carried a pack around with him in his pocket just in case, he didn't need to carry matches as he could just start a fire with his magic. 

The wind began to calm down and snow started to fall, he wondered if it would be a problem for the festival, but to be honest Keith didn't mind the idea of drummers slipping over the iced streets before hurrying to gather their places again so they wouldn't halt the celebration, or be trampled by the countless of other performers behind them. 

Keith didn't like snow, it was to cold for him and most of the time it only turned into frost so you wouldn't be able to make a snowman even if you tried, not that he really cared about sculpting those anyways. The freshly fallen snow never stayed white for long as it mushed into the dirt underneath thousands of trampling weather proof boots, which is what he assumed would happen on the streets after the festivals commenced, that is if the snow didn't melt from the fireworks or fire dancers beforehand. 

Although deep down Keith shared a little respect for the snow. He would have to be lying if he claimed that it wasn't at all beautiful how the frost fell from the sky as if the snow was dancing to natures song, how the soft ice landed on your skin sending cold tingles all over your body like a dozen small winter like kisses, how it blanketed across your clothes and hair dampening everything. The snow greeted everybody with their feather light touches, gracing the town with its cold although gentle appearance. 

He loved how the snow fell on the tops of houses and melted near the windows and chimneys, while people gathered outside houses warming their frostbitten hands on open fires situated outside stalls selling small glass animals, fuzzy socks, clothing and various types of sweets that hung from the ceilings attempting to draw people in, to buy their chocolate coated pretzels and brightly coloured hard boiled candies. 

the snow fizzled out on fires and melted slowly on the hands and bodies of freezing strangers, whose breath froze and temporality clouded the streets. When Keith was smaller he'd make fun about the freezing fire artists that walked the markets, clutching linen knitted bags or children that got distracted way to easily by stalls selling anything that peeked their interests. 

He'd be watching from a frost clouded window clutching a way to large warm cup of hot cacao between his hands, warm fluffy blanket draped across his shoulders, looking outside a window through a small circle that wasn't covered by the frost but melted by the steam that emitted from his mug and from his palm that he rubbed across the window so he could look at the wonders that took place outside.

"Keith what are you doing up here? You'll catch a cold." 

Quickly discarding his burnt out cigarette from the clasps of his gloved hand and sucking in a huge breath of air, he hummed in response. Swallowing in the remainder of the smoke that was trapped inside his throat into his lungs as he tried his best not to cough out the cloud again. Shiro didn't know that he smoked and he definitely didn't want him to find out like this, or really ever. 

Pulling down his woolen jumper sleeves over his hands, balling the rest of the material into his fists Keith turned his body around to face his older brother. Dark black hair swisped across his face into his eyes and mouth, as he raised an arm from the comforts of his fluffy fur-coat to push the renegade strands behind his ears.

"Your hands are so cold, and what are you doing sitting out here so close to the edge? You could fall."  
The brothers stood in silence as they listened to the icy whispers of the wind, telling stories to the bluebirds that hid underneath the welcoming shelter of pine needles that grew upon the branches of the trees. Shiro started to take his jacket off, offering it to his younger sibling "Its snowing so everything is going to be twice as slippery" He lectured, turning Keith's stone cold gloved hands over in his hands, until he decided to clasp them into his palms to blow warm air onto them to warm them up.

Keith nodded refusing Shiro's jacket, turning his gaze away from his brothers before slipping his slightly warmed hands from his soft grip, hiding them in the depths of his fluffy and comforting pockets of his fur coat. 

"I could say the same thing to you too, you know" Keith said moving his head in the opposite direction in hopes that the wind would blow away the smell that the cigarette forcibly echted into his voice.

"Well I've been inside all day and I only just came out to look for you because it was starting to get late, so it doesn't really apply to me" Shiro frowned before he added, "plus the celebrations were starting and the stalls started getting more crowded so I assumed that you were going to come back soon but you didn't."

Shiro watched a snowflake dance gracefully and fall onto the cold stone concrete. He paused, thoughtfully staring into Keith's eyes "is everything alright?" He finished with a tilt of the head and a concerning gaze headed straight for his brothers direction. 

Swallowing, Keith turned his face further away and dug his hands even deeper into the safe depths of his coat. He fiddled with the pack of cigarettes in his right pocket as he contemplated taking one out, although he couldn't for obvious reasons. 

"I'm fine, I don't need anybody to baby me I can look after myself!” 

His voice bit through the air rougher then the cold and whisped harshly through the currents of the strong breeze. The snow stopped falling in anticipation and the numbness of the freezing bitterness that resided deep in his bones crawled back into his veins. The world had seemed to halt in its footsteps, awaiting patiently for a shy echo of a response. 

Although just like the trailing smoke that emitted from Keith's once lit cigarette, his biting words that had left a short lived imprint on the force of the wind got snatched and blown towards other kingdoms, leaving the silence between the two of them un-concluded and open. It felt as if nature had not kept the response in mind, taking Keiths words from his mouth; blowing them away from his brother before they would make a harsh impact. 

The wind was a force that thought for its own and the good of their inhabitants, and Keith was not in the right mind to fight against it. The breeze was as old as time itself, a force living on its on accords and breathing its life into those that lived and breathed its spirit. Helping whose who asked and blowing life's essence into the soul of the earth, allowing plants to grow and flowers to blossom. Giving the kingdoms life and purpose.

The tips of Keith's ears flushed red as numbing spread all across his face and hands. Clutching his fists and biting his tongue, he hoped his brother hadn't gotten the chance to hear his bitter remark. He really needed to work on his impulsiveness.

"Keith? Is everything alright?" A worried Shiro exclaimed repeating his question once more, while eyeing his brothers balled up fists that remained buried deep within the depths of the fluffy and comfortable confinement of his fur-coat.

The wind whistled among them and the snowflakes began to fall towards the freezing cobbled stone floor once more. Cold calloused gloved knuckles slipped out from their leather hide-away and hung out in the vast open air, cupping the snow that danced towards the bare skin of his fingers and wrists allowing the ice to melt down the heat of his anger, and maybe perhaps to warm his bitter heart.

Untucking his dark mullet that snuck down underneath his coat he turned his slim toned figure to glance at his brothers expression, confusion was deeply knitted into his face like the wool of his winter jumpers that collected dust in his wardrobe during the summer, his eyebrows were raised in unison as they both found their way furrowed to the top of his forehead as they usually always did whenever Shiro was concerned.

"huh? I... I'm..." The fire artist swallowed, turning his head away from the attention of his brother. Fiddling with the packet of cigarettes in his right pocket, he slipped one out from the roughly cut wooden box and twirled the unlit stick along and in-between his fingertips nervously. 

Snow began to fall faster and soon Keith's socks began to grow damp, it really was about time that he needed to patch the hole in the soles of his winter-boots. Kicking at the ice that formed along the ridges and indents of the cobbles with his ice picks, that were attached to the back and front of his thick leather boot soles, he watched the basket and list that he brought from home with him with the initial purpose of gathering poorly made overpriced fireworks and festival food fill up with dampened snow.

The silence between the two brothers fell like the snow that danced in the open and vast space, catching the waves of the wind hitching a ride to join their other friends to reunite with them in the freezing bitter colds of the arctic. The wind ripped at the brothers clothes and hair, as if it was trying to pull them into the rhythms of the wind to join their adventurous journey of long-sought freedom as well. 

Dark black hair blew across Keith's face and eyes as the thick ravenette locks escaped from the tucked in clasps behind his cold ears, pulling his arms out from underneath his fur-coat he pushed the lose strands behind his ears again and into the depths of his jumper; only for them to fall out once more from the wild and unpredicted force of mother nature's breath. 

A pale scarred hand caught Keith off guarded as it ruffled through the hair that fell at the top of his scalp and onto his forehead. Shiro's pleasant embrace stayed there for only a moment longer, before falling back to the comfortable and familiar side of his heavily layered, sheeps wool and leather clothed body.

The snow continued to fall, mother nature's life flourished and commenced but the silence that remained opened and un-concluded between the two brothers felt as if the world truely had really stopped. Although, seemingly only for the both of them.

"It really is about time that you get a haircut" Keith's older brother laughed, eyes twinkling as they caught the vaguely emotionless face of his younger brother. Shaking his head and stuffing his slowly reddening hands from the curse of the cold into the pockets of his coat, he began to shake his entire body side to side in what it seemed, a really sad attempt in trying to warm up. 

Pulling his hand out from his pocket and extending his arm away from the blanketed warmth of his fur coat, he held his arm out from his body and in the open, his black woollen jumper sleeve rolled up in the process revealing several scars that decorated his arm scattered unevenly all over his pale skin.

Taking the initiative that his older brother was holding his arm out for him to help pull him up, Keith accepted the offer and pulled his hand out from his right pocket from where he was once fiddling with his cigarette. Clasping his hand together with Shiros, holding unto his forearm, he pulled himself up from the frost coated cobbled edge of the tower. Once standing Keith brushed the rest of the snow off from his pant legs, wiping his now damp hands down the sides of his fur coat he silently hoped that his pants would dry up before he got home, even though he knew that a possibility like that wouldn't actually happen.

"I kinda like it long" Keith responded, as monotone as he usually always was, "it feels nice against my neck" he added, before looking around the floor trying to find any small rocks he could quite possibly kick around with his way to small, worn out boots. 

Shiro smiled a little, nodding his head he whispered a quiet "I know" even though he knew that Keith couldn't see or hear him. Raising an arm to ruffle through his brothers raventte locks once more, Shiro disheveled his hair into a messy bed headed state, before he could make Keith's hair situation any worse then already possible his brother stopped him by moving his arm out of the way reluctantly. 

No matter how many times Keith denied it, he knew that deep down somewhere in his cold bitter heart that he secretly enjoyed whenever he tousled through his hair.

The two brothers watched the snow fall again, the ice danced before their eyes before tumbling down towards their clothes, hair or the ground below them. Breathing out clouds of their breath that fogged up between them, Keith rubbed his hands together before blowing into the palms of his cupped fingerless gloved fists. The snow had stopped falling down as rapidly as it had when it started only about a half an hour ago, but it definitely wouldn't clear in time for the Yangi celebrations. Not that it would bother the two of them that much, and not that it would postpone the festival anyways. It always snowed in the fire kingdom, so there really wasn't too big of a deal about it. 

"So, do you still want to go to the festival stalls?" Shiro questioned, rubbing the palms of his hands together like Keith had done a few minutes ago. 

"Actually I'm quite fine if we just went back to our place, I don't really like festival food anyways it's too sweet for my tastes."

And that's how they left, empty basket covered in the snow long forgotten to the both of them, trudging footsteps leaving indents, thick worn leather boots trekking slowly beside each other as they crunched down on the frozen rain that fell onto the ground beneath them.

 


End file.
